


so hot (want to touch the hiney)

by only_more_love



Series: 2020 Cap-Ironman Bingo, Round 1 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: America's ass—Tony wants to touch it, Bad Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Innuendo, Kissing, Laughter, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Sparring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: Tony and Steve spar; their bout has an unexpected outcome.Written as a gift for Yumi_Eleven and a fill for the Cap-IM Bingo 2020 - "Laughter" Square.Chapter title credits are as follows: one is a lyric from The National's "I Need My Girl," two is a lyric from Counting Crows' "Anna Begins," and three is a lyric from Andrew Belle's "Dive Deep."
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: 2020 Cap-Ironman Bingo, Round 1 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649818
Comments: 27
Kudos: 75
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	1. I am good, I am grounded.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yumi_Eleven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumi_Eleven/gifts).



> I love you, Sim. <3 This was supposed to be a birthday present, but that ship sailed months ago, so let's call this a good-luck-with-your-February-exams gift instead. (Or something.) In any case, I wrote this for you, with all the affection I have for both you and this ridiculous ship. It was supposed to be deep, intense, and serious business, but sometimes Tony and Steve don't cooperate with me. Regardless, I do hope you enjoy. <3 xoxo

“Come on, Tony. Spar with me.” Sandy eyebrows pinched. “Please.” Blink blink in an enticing flutter of pale gold eyelashes, and bam, Tony was done. God, he was such a sucker—for Steve, at least.

Tony clutched at his chest, then rubbed a circle into it with the flat of his palm. “Geez, don’t you know I’ve got a bum ticker?” He waved vaguely in Steve’s direction. “Put away those damn peepers, Rogers.” Heaving an enormous sigh, Tony admitted defeat: “All right. All right. You win. J., save everything; shut it all down.”

“Of course, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

“You”—here Tony snapped his fingers and aimed a sharp glance at Steve—“are a menace.” Steve blinked again, all fresh-faced, wide-eyed innocence, and Tony rolled his eyes. “Go away. I’ll change into sweats and meet you upstairs in ten.” When Steve still didn’t move beyond letting his hands settle at his narrow hips, Tony huffed out a breath through his pursed lips and flapped his hands in a brisk shooing motion. “Shoo. Skedaddle. Begone, tall, blond one.”  
  
“See you in ten minutes.” Sure, the words seemed innocuous enough, but they had the timbre of a threat. Steve tossed the comment over his mountain range shoulders as his long, well-muscled legs led him away from Tony. (Ugh, the unholy curve of Cap’s calves in shorts; life was _so_ unfair.)  
  
In a fit of pique, Tony stuck out his tongue and wiggled it at Steve’s retreating back; did Steve know what Tony was doing? There was just enough of an enticing tick-tock to Steve’s hips that Tony had to bite the tip of his thumb in order to hold back the whimper that begged to crawl out of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, craning his neck to keep Steve nicely in his line of sight. Exercising extreme willpower, he resisted the urge to curl his fingers into a cupping motion. Barely. “Or what?” he added because when it came to Steve, he never knew when to shut up. Fine, fine, he _knew_ ; he just couldn’t make himself do it.  
  
“Or I’ll come and find you again.” Just like that. Matter of fact. 

“Oh. You’ll come find me,” Tony said, aware of the taunt layered thickly over his words. He carefully slid Nat’s bites back into a glass case. “And what if I’m naked when you come and find me, Cappy Cap?” The case shut with a snap, and Tony pitched his head to the side, eyebrows raised. “What then, pray tell?” he asked, drumming his fingers on his work table. “Hmm?” Oh, he had Steve now.

Steve stopped, turned, and propped himself against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest that was roughly the size of a continent—god, had J.A.R.V.I.S. raised the temperature by ten degrees?—and one shoulder cocked higher than the other. If Tony didn’t know better, he’d say Steve was posing. But that was a ridiculous thought; Steve Rogers didn’t pose. His lips twitched minutely at the corners as if he was trying to repress a smile. Damned if that wasn’t charming as all hell. Then they firmed again, and his eyes—damn those weaponized eyes—they fucking _sparkled_ like, like Independence Day fireworks shooting across the sky, as he trained them on Tony and etched a blazing trail from Tony’s shoes, up his denim-clad legs, along the black tank that covered his chest, and over his bare throat, not stopping until they clashed directly with Tony’s eyes. He didn’t even bother to hide it, just looked Tony up and down, slow, deliberate, and filthy. Blink blink, and Steve’s shoulder moved in what some might call an insouciant shrug but Tony pegged as annoying and also somehow hot. Ridiculously hot. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a”—pink flashed as the tip of Steve’s tongue darted out and wet his lips, and Tony fought back the urge to fan himself—“naked man. If I’m lucky, it won’t be the last.”  
  
 _If I’m lucky…_ Tony’s jaw dropped and he gaped at Steve, eyes rounding, heart careening against his ribs. His face was doing supremely weird things, probably, but he couldn’t make it stop.  
  
A smile, relaxed and easy, tugged at half of Steve’s mouth, sending fresh heat sliding over Tony’s already burning face when he realized with a jolt how utterly, unfairly kissable that mouth looked. As that realization rattled around in Tony’s brain like a wobbly, spinning coin, Steve was gone without another glance from those big, bluebell-pretty eyes. Turning on his heel, he made a pitch-perfect exit in a quiet squeak of shoes. A mirthful “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” traveled to Tony’s ears while he stared after Steve, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Tony cleared his throat. “No, you,” he fired back nonsensically, five seconds too late for it not to be apparent how flustered he was, if his face hadn’t already delivered that message, then smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead, repeatedly. What kind of lame-ass comeback was _that_? Where was his famous charm when he needed it? That languid, smoldering perusal had clearly messed with his head.

Steve’s low, rumbling laugh floated back to Tony, raising goosebumps on Tony’s bare arms and catching in his chest. 

Steve had just undressed him with his eyes.  
  
Was Steve hitting on him or just teasing him? It had to be the latter, right?  
  
  
  


On this Sunday afternoon, Tony and Steve were the only ones in the sparring room at the Tower. Tony would prefer to still be in his workshop, toying with upgrades to Nat’s bites, but Steve had invaded his inner sanctum and nailed him with the bluer than blue, sad pupper Eyes of DoomTM, not to mention sassed him with that delectable mouth of his, and well, Tony’d crumbled like a cheap, shiny, polyester suit. Why? Because he was easy like that, or, well, more accurately, he was easy like that for one person: Steve. It was a problem. One that Tony, even with all the considerable brain power at his disposal, had yet to discover a solution for. 

While Tony went up to the penthouse to change out of his jeans, apparently Steve warmed up on his own. When Tony entered the sparring room, his eyes immediately sought and found Steve. It wasn’t exactly difficult; Steve was facing Tony, and he was the only idiot in the vicinity with a black jump rope in his large hands, slicing it through the air with a grace and economy of movement that made it seem like he was dancing. Eyes narrowed, Tony watched as Steve jumped and twisted from side to side. “Showoff,” he called out loudly, both hands cupped around his mouth, even though he knew Steve and his serum-enhanced hearing would pick up the word even if he whispered it.

Steve, the big, gorgeous lug, didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. A grin with enough wattage to power two cities stretched across his mouth. With nary a stumble, he switched to double under crossovers, making it appear easy when Tony knew damn well it was anything but. He knew how hard Steve’s core must be working and he wished he could run his hands over Steve’s abs and feel his warm skin, feel the flex and release of the muscles underneath. Barring that, he wished Steve would take off his two sizes too small white t-shirt, so at least Tony could see, even if he couldn’t touch. 

The rope whipped even faster, Steve jumped higher, though he still remained enviably light on his feet, and his hair flew up and flopped down again, echoing the motion. After twisting his hand and crudely miming jerking himself off, Tony pointedly turned his back on Steve and set his water bottle off to the side. His body definitely needed a warm-up—something to loosen his muscles and get his blood flowing a bit faster. Though Tony could come up with a dozen more fun ways of doing that than shoulder and ankle rolls, sadly, those delicacies weren’t on the menu for the day. 

Grinning at that thought, he moved through a series of ankle, wrist, shoulder, and knee rotations. After spending a few reps on pulling his arms from the midline of his body out to the sides in order to open up his chest, Tony shifted to jumping jacks and lateral hops. He hated burpees, but he sprinkled in a handful of those, as well. Eventually, he brought himself down to the mat on his stomach and bent one leg at the knee. With a firm grip on his ankle, he pulled his bent leg in toward his ass and held it there for half a minute, feeling the slight pull in his quads. Even five years ago, he might not have been so diligent about warming up, but with age came a certain reality about his body’s limitations. He alternated between both legs, breathing evenly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Just as he finished his final rep and lowered his left leg back to the mat, Steve’s gray sneakers entered his field of vision. 

“You ready?”

Tony propped his chin on his folded hands and bent his legs at the knees again, letting them cross and swing behind him in lazy arcs. His gaze tiptoed up Steve’s legs and chest—giving him a slow once over—and came to a stop at his eyes. He winked saucily, his pinky caught between his teeth. This time Tony was ready for anything Steve might throw at him.   
  
“Come and get me, big boy.” 


	2. I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

They hadn’t been at it for long—maybe six minutes, max. Slowly, they circled each other on the mats, each searching for an opening. Tony’s eyes narrowed in concentration. A pink haze dusted Steve’s cheeks, brightening those ocean eyes that didn’t need any brightening; it was beyond adorable, and Tony wanted nothing more than to rub his fingers and his lips against it. 

Tony’s gaze slipped, just for a moment, easing from Steve’s handsome face, past the bo staffs, kamas, and other equipment that lined the border of the room behind him and then even further than that, to the mirrored wall, where Tony could see the painfully clear reflection of Steve’s perfect, round ass, framed by the silky basketball shorts that shouldn’t be so enticing but oh, on Steve, they were. Illegally so. Tony, he was only human, and—

That single moment of distraction cost him. 

(In fact, because the universe liked to fuck with him at every turn, it decided to show Tony how _not_ ready he was for anything Steve might throw at him.)

Before Tony could even think to step out of range or brandish a countermove, he was fucked—Steve dropped to the ground on both hands with a whoosh of air, always so lethally fast. Sitting on one hip, he shot out his other leg and swept it behind Tony. The bottom of that beautiful calf Tony had been admiring in his workshop less than an hour ago thwacked, hard and low, against the back of Tony’s leg. This knocked Tony off-balance and took him down. He thumped to the ground on his back. 

With the air knocked clean out of him, Tony just lay there with his arms and legs splayed wide on the mats. Stunned, he blinked up at the overhead lights in the high ceiling, chest rising and falling rapidly, and tried to catch his breath as a wave of humiliation washed over him, beginning in his chest and breaking hot in his face. He bet now he was as red as Steve sometimes got. “Wow,” he finally gasped out, not moving from his starfished position. While he certainly didn’t mind being on his back for the right man or woman, this was something else. “That was, um—”  
  
“Way too easy,” Steve added before Tony could finish his thought. “What happened?” Tony turned his head and squinted, watching as Steve crawled over—which yes, Steve crawling toward him in any context, very interesting—and knelt right beside him, his brows doing a furrowed, concerned caterpillar thing, and his face creased in a frown. 

Tony could taste it like it was in his own mouth, the lecture building on Steve’s tongue. The good captain did like his public service announcements, particularly when it came to Tony and his myriad fuck-ups, perceived and real. That lecture? Admittedly far less interesting than the aforementioned crawling. Tony could get behind more crawling. Oh, yeah. 

Without even waiting for a response, Steve opened his mouth, and Tony sighed, shelving his fantasies of Steve crawling for other, extremely prurient reasons. He had a very good, very thorough imagination, thank you very much. 

“Go ahead, just get it out of your system.” Tony propped his forearm over his eyes, resigned to just lie there and take it. Maybe it would be over faster, that way. 

“You need to be more careful,” said Steve, 190 proof prissy schoolmarm, and Tony sighed inwardly. As usual, that particularly bossy tone Steve was wielding had two immediate side effects: 1) It made Tony want to dig in his heels and do a whole hell of a lot more of whatever thing(s) had brought on the latest Lecture of Doom™, mostly because there was something so viscerally satisfying about getting under Steve’s seemingly unflappable exterior and riling him up the way just being near Steve riled up Tony. 2) It got him hot. Steve trying to tell him what to do got him ridiculously, perversely hot. Tony tugged at the neck of his tank, trying to get some air circulating across his overly warm skin. “Sure, it’s fine in here,” Steve continued, blissfully unaware of Tony’s predicament, “but out there, what if you get caught without your suit? You have to stay alert and have your guard up. We all do.”

“Yes, sir, Mom, sir,” Tony replied, moving his arm from his eyes and snapping his hand in a mock salute. He really hoped Steve couldn't tell he was sporting a semi—a semi that with every word out of Steve’s lush mouth turned one hot pulse of blood closer to full—under his black sweatpants. That would complete his humiliation. Blinking, he wrinkled his nose at Steve. 

“Tony…” Weary. Disappointed. Annoyed. Same old, same old. Steve sat back, swiping the back of his hand over his damp temple.

Tony rallied, making a face at Steve. “Don’t you ‘Tony’ me when it’s your fault. You want to know what happened?" He jabbed a finger in Steve’s general direction. "You happened. So maybe, just maybe, it’s _you_ who should be more careful. You ever think of that, huh?”

“So this is somehow my fault?”

“Why yes, yes it is. In fact,” said Tony, warming to his subject, “this is one hundred percent your fault. This wasn’t a fair match, at all; it was rigged from the start, and you know it.”

“Great,” Steve retorted, flat and unimpressed. “I’d love to hear this. Please explain.” 

Raising his head, Tony beckoned Steve closer with two hands. He waited until Steve leaned over him, his hands braced on the mat, on either side of Tony’s head. Tony’s heart quickened its beat at Steve’s nearness; he was only a scant few inches away. The warm caress of his breath stirred Tony’s hair and made his stomach flip over. “It’s your ass, Steven,” he said, sotto voce, widening his eyes. Your _inhumanly beautiful_ ass, was right there on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but he let it stay there, unspoken. “I was distracted by your ass.”

Steve swallowed several times, his throat working, and blinked in an exquisite flutter of long eyelashes before he finally spoke. “You were distracted by…” Red blotches sat high on his cheeks. Even his ears were red. Slowly, he moved away from Tony and into a seated position. “Is this your idea of a joke, Tony?” he asked, his voice thin and reedy. His expression flickered and his jaw clenched, and part of Tony cheered at this proof that he could affect Steve. “Because I don’t think it’s funny.”

Tony sat up, too, with his legs bent and tucked to the side. “What the fuck do you take me for?” He held up his hands. “Wait, don't answer that. No, this is not a joke. This is a very, very serious matter. A matter of great importance. I’m onto you and your tricks; you cheated by wearing those shorts, and I am simply _appalled_ .” Brows drawn together so tight Tony was amazed they didn't just pop right off his face, Steve glanced down at his shorts as Tony pointed at his own face. “Look at my face. Do you see how deeply offended I am? Have you no shame? No sense of sportsmanship? Now, if, say, you wore baggy clown pants, that would make for a fair match. Actually, scratch that. On you, only a garbage bag would be fair. Maybe not even that.”  
  
“A trash bag,” Steve replied, sounding skeptical and puzzled.  
  
“Yeah, that.” He patted Steve on the knee but pulled his hand away quickly, despite his desire to curve his palm over the bone and linger there, absorbing Steve’s warmth. “Glad we’re on the same page now.”  
  
“What does…?” Steve stared at him from beneath those pretty eyelashes for a handful of seconds, then he blinked, and his gaze flitted away from Tony’s. “Tony, I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Come on, Cap.” He flicked Steve on the shoulder. “You can’t be this dense.” At Tony’s words, Steve looked decidedly peeved, his shoulders stiff and his mouth calcified into a thin line. Steve hunched forward as his brows crashed down and he crossed his arms over his chest, so Tony gathered his courage around his shoulders. Clearly, he’d jammed his foot in his mouth again. Nothing new there. Now he had to practice damage control. Tony pulled himself a tiny bit closer to Steve; bumped Steve’s shoulder with his own; took a deep breath while he watched as Steve gnawed on his bottom lip with a faraway look on his face. Ah, well. For Steve, maybe he could sacrifice a little more of whatever was left of his dignity. He licked his lips and took another quick breath for courage. Sometimes it was best to down your medicine in one fast gulp. “So hot, Steve,” he said, tossing his head and fanning himself dramatically. “Want to touch the hiney.”


	3. We started a fuse; we started a tidal wave with a spark.

Steve’s gaze swooped back up to Tony’s, and Tony watched him experience a face journey that ranged from embarrassed, pinched, and concerned to extremely confused. Realization dawned, too, finally, visible in the way Steve’s expression cleared and his mouth relaxed—into a laugh. An endless laugh that scrunched his familiar face into not-familiar-enough lines and curves of joy, spilled out his open mouth, and echoed in the cavernous gym. The laugh played over Tony’s skin like the sweetest touch, trailing heat and nudging him onto his side, where he stayed, head pillowed on his arm, smiling, content to simply float in the warm sounds and watch as Steve doubled over, clutching his stomach. 

With a groan, he flopped down next to Tony on the mat and rolled onto his side. His face was so red it was almost purple, and a few tears, real tears, skimmed his cheeks. Tony wondered what Steve would do if he leaned in and kissed those tears, one by one. Just as Steve’s laughter began to peter out, his gaze returned to Tony, who grinned back and waggled his eyebrows, setting Steve off again. 

Not that Tony minded. He’d seen Steve serious. He’d seen him focused. Angry. Sad. Hurting. This, though, this was his favorite Steve. He could listen to him laugh for hours. It would be a privilege to tuck that carefree sound deep inside himself.    
  
Steve sighed with gusto and his fingers swiped at his damp cheeks. A smile lingered on his face, gentling his mouth into something Tony wanted so very badly to touch, softly. So softly, with every bit of the care his scarred, calloused hands were capable of. 

“Do you laugh like that every day?” The words spilled out as easily as Steve’s laughter had, without any conscious forethought from Tony. Lying beside Steve, Tony was acutely aware of Steve’s sheer size and brick wall solidity; of the heat that emanated from every bit of his large frame; he felt it even though they weren’t touching. That awareness made him want to shift even closer; to put out his hands and warm himself as if by a cheerful fire. Tony was always warmest by Steve’s side, and the desire to be nearer to him was constant and distracting. He continued without waiting for Steve to respond. “Who am I kidding? You don’t. I  _ know  _ you don’t.” Tony stopped and took a breath. “But you should,” left his mouth, almost an afterthought. Quieter than he liked. More serious than he intended, too. Steve had that effect on Tony, leading him to unexpected places.    
  
One eyebrow winged upward and Steve nudged the flat of his thumb against the sweet rise of his lower lip. “Yeah?” he asked, the smile melting from his face like snow in golden sunlight and leaving it serious once again. Instantly, Tony mourned the loss of the mirth that had transformed Steve’s face and given it a transient lightness.   
  
“Yeah, you should,” he said, through the heavy knot in his throat. “It’s…” (Glorious, Tony thought but didn’t say. Let me be the one to make you laugh like that, he didn’t say, either. But oh, how he wanted to, and that knowledge was enough to shake him.) Instead, he reached for Steve’s hand where it rested on the mat; stroked the side of his thumb over the small hills his knuckles made under the warmth of his smooth skin; put the plea into his touch instead of in his words—and hoped that Steve would hear it, anyway. 

Steve’s eyes closed. 

Unable to turn his attention toward anything else, held in thrall by the man stretched out beside him, Tony hungrily took in his expression. Afraid to miss anything, his eyes scanned the faint upward tilt of Steve’s mouth, the crisp slope of his nose, the vivid color that remained in his cheeks. He looked...peaceful. That same feeling of peace lodged in Tony. 

Tony’s thumb never ceased moving; he kept up the small, steady motion, back and forth, back and forth. With every pass, an answering warmth sparked and spread in Tony’s chest, its glow brighter, even, than that of the arc reactor. “Does that feel…?” Tony fumbled his words, afraid to say the wrong thing and shatter whatever delicate thing hung between them. “Do you...like that?” He nearly held his breath while he waited for Steve’s answer.

The color in Steve’s cheeks deepened. “What do you think?” Steve asked, his eyes still shut. 

“Come on, Cap.” Tony clicked his tongue. “You can’t answer a question with a question.”   
  
Steve’s eyes opened, blue flames that burned white-hot, scorching Tony. They pinned Tony with a gaze so steady Tony swore he could reach out his hand and lean on it. “Yeah, Tony, I like that,” he said, apparently taking mercy on Tony. The confession was uttered in a low, rough voice that curled low in Tony’s gut and tugged, mercilessly, threatening to wreck him.   
  
Tony stopped stroking; he let his hand find a home on top of Steve’s. “I want to...” Tony paused and cleared his throat. Swallowed. “Can I…?” He swallowed again. “Can I kiss you?” His throat felt like he’d inhaled the Sahara. At that moment, he was thirteen again, with all the anticipation and awkwardness of someone stumbling into their first kiss. It figured that Steve would be the person to do that to Tony even though he’d kissed so many people over the years that the prospect of kissing this one shouldn’t mean quite so much.

And yet, it did. 

A twitch developed at the corner of Steve’s mouth, and Tony realized he was trying not to smile. “Don’t know, Tony.” His voice was velvet rubbed against the nap. “ _ Can _ you?” Arch and amused. Mischief glimmered in his eyes, and his tongue flicked over his lower lip, leaving a wet sheen that Tony couldn’t help but follow with his eyes. Steve’s lips curved, making Tony’s breath skitter.    
  
“All right, all right, funny guy. Nobody likes the grammar police.”

“Hmm.” A mock-thoughtful expression scrolled across Steve’s features as he tilted his head to the side. “I think you do.” His free hand curled over the top of Tony’s, holding Tony’s hand between both of his own.    
  
Tony could feel his own pulse in his fingers. He could pull his hand free if he wanted to; he let it stay sandwiched securely between Steve’s. “Shut your smug mouth and get over here,” he said, half exasperated and half fond.    
  
“Tsk tsk.” Steve’s hand released Tony’s and lit on Tony’s bare shoulder, where it worried the strap of his black tank in what seemed an absentminded gesture, leaving golden tingles of warmth in its wake. Tony couldn’t even tell if Steve was aware of what he was doing.  _ He _ was aware, though. Suddenly, that was all Tony could think about—Steve touching him. With frightening speed, it crowded out every other thought in Tony’s mind. “Manners maketh man,” Steve said with a lofty twist to his lips.

“I cannot believe I'm desperate enough to do this,” Tony muttered, and threw Steve a dry look. The depths this man could make him willingly sink to. “ _ May _ I kiss you?”

They looked at one another, Steve’s gaze pensive and Tony’s face betraying what, he didn’t know. Steve smiled; his face and eyes lit up with it. “Not if I kiss you first,” he said, an amused lilt to his voice. His hand left Tony’s shoulder only to graze his collarbone, slide to the back of his neck and hold him there instead. His long fingers glided through Tony’s hair, and Tony just barely stifled a moan. Steve scooted closer to Tony, closing the short distance that separated them, gracefully insinuating himself into Tony’s space with a rustle of clothing and a rush of warm, soft breath that flitted over Tony’s face and made a shudder weave down the length of his spine. With Tony scarcely breathing, Steve brushed his nose along Tony’s skin in a sensual tease. His lips followed soon after, sliding against Tony’s cheek—the contact gentle and soft—so barely there that it took concentration to feel them. Deliciously close to Tony’s lips...but not on them. 

But Steve wasn’t done with Tony yet. Tony’s heart hammered in his chest as Steve clasped one of Tony’s hands in both of his, uncurling Tony’s fingers so that his palm was open. He did it slowly, carefully, as if they had nothing but the luxury of endless time, running long, smooth fingers down the length of Tony’s own until Tony’s fingers spasmed involuntarily, and Tony bit his lip, shivering. It was a simple thing, but the way Steve did it felt considered and shockingly intimate. Tony held his breath as Steve guided his hand until his fingertips met the softness of Steve’s hair, and then slid down to his face.    
  
Tony sighed a long breath through his nose and waited until his heartbeat slowed a notch before he opened his eyes. “Yeah, see, that’s not what I meant, big guy.” He deliberately kept his voice soft so there was no sting in it. “Here”—Tony smiled, and brought his hand up, cradling the razor-keen angles of Steve’s jaw, processing the scrape of barely-there stubble, and letting his knuckles trace the contours of Steve’s face before his shaking fingers pressed carefully against Steve’s mouth—“l’ll show you.” He heard it, felt against his hand how Steve’s breath mirrored the unsteadiness of Tony’s fingers as he stared back at Tony with his eyes glittering at half-mast. Tony couldn’t tear his avid gaze away, his fingertips playing gently up and down and then up again along the upside-down W of Steve’s upper lip.    
  
“Show me, then,” Steve said. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are much appreciated, should you choose to leave them, and I respond to all comments, though sometimes it takes me a while. If you don't feel like commenting, I still hope you enjoyed this. :) Be well. 
> 
> You can find me at [onlymorelove.tumblr.com](http://onlymorelove.tumblr.com). Come talk to me if you like. I do not bite. :) Sometimes you can also find me on Discord.


End file.
